


Little Letters

by pearlyquill (TheQuiescentQuill)



Category: Hey Arnold!
Genre: F/M, Swearing, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 16:02:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7539028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheQuiescentQuill/pseuds/pearlyquill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Helga G. Pataki is done with Arnold Shortman, at least she wants to think she is. He's not some romantic-era novel hero, not some saviour and she is no virtuous wife, no gothic heroine. In fact she's seventeen years of age, angry at the world and angry at the gimmicky anonymous letter system that her school is setting up to improve relationships within the school students. Which is exactly why she's signing up for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Letters

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first piece for "Hey Arnold!" But I really love writing from Helga's perspective, hopefully I've done her justice!

She watched as a slip of paper fluttered from her locker and onto the floor. A frustrated growl crept from her throat as she snatched it from the ground, with perhaps more force than necessary. Helga G. Pataki was in no mood for this sort of bullshit first thing on a Monday morning. She was in the mood for silence, to be feared by all her peers and to generally not be bothered by anyone that she didn’t deem worthy of her conversation. With an exasperated sigh she held the slip of carefully folded note paper up to her eyes in order to read the writing.   
  
       “Sorry I couldn’t meet you, Gerald was looking for me.” It was Phoebe’s hand writing and Helga shrugged, stuffing the paper into the bag that was resting on her hip. Her friend sure had been spending a lot more time with _Geraldo_ recently, the blonde couldn’t tell if it annoyed her or not. It probably did a little bit but really she was just glad Phoebe was happy. A lot of people often wondered why the smaller girl stuck with her, hell Helga even did sometimes but she supposed they were kindred spirits in a way. And she’d sock the smug bastard currently dating her if he ever made the mistake of breaking her heart.   
  
       Having read the note kindly left for her, Helga reached into her locker to begin the process of grabbing the things required for her next class. Well normally she and Phoebe were free after home room on a Monday but Helga doubted she’d be there, Gerald was free that period and while normally her friend sat with her Helga was certain she could survive until lunch. The seventeen-year-old pushed a piece of hair from her face and tugged her beanie down further on her head. She should probably work on her article for the school paper anyway. No big deal. Closing her locker with force (Read; slamming) she held her books tightly to her chest and began the process of walking towards home room.   
  
       Five minutes into her journey, Helga found herself pausing at a group of apparently excited teenagers. Tacked to the wall was an advertisement-sign-up-sheet combo for some dumb scheme that involved signing one’s self up to be partnered with another student anonymously in order to “promote healthy relationships among peers”. _‘A tacky gimmick.’_ She thought to herself, who would be interested in that sort of bullshit? Just then she felt something knock into her.  Spinning around to see who’d been so rude she found herself face-to-face with Arnold Shortman. Helga felt herself scowl, though her heart jumped uncomfortably in her chest a second.

       “Watch where you’re going, Football Head.” She snapped without even thinking, it was instinctual and defensive and she wanted to smack herself in the face. Arnold’s face twisted for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing.   
  
       “Nice to see you too.” He responded dryly, before looking between Helga and the sheet on the wall. He moved to pull an application from below the poster and tuck it into his binder.

       “You _can’t_ be serious.” Helga said, tone disapproving. “You’re going to fall for some crummy gimmick to make this hellhole seem like a less shit place when really it’s just adding a layer of crap on top of something that is already crap?”   
  
      “I happen to like gimmicks; I don’t know why you’re so mad about something that’s trying to improve relationships in the school.” He paused. “It’s not doing you any harm.”  
  
      Helga rolled her eyes and turned away instead of responding, she heard the heavy sigh and the “see you, Helga.” As he walked off. Probably to Home Room. When she felt like he wouldn’t see her she reached out and tugged a sheet off. The chances were slim but she supposed it might give her an outlet. Someone other than Phoebe to talk to, she hoped they wouldn’t mind shit poetry and years of complexes.   
  
      “Snap out of it Pataki.” She murmured under her breath, shifting her books in her arms. A lot had changed; she wasn’t obsessed with Arnold. There were no shrines, no sprawling poems and stupid metaphors. He made her incredibly nervous all the same, their paths crossed more often than they should have.   
  
       Helga breathed a slow sigh. When she was younger, she’d had this elevated idea of love. It’d been placed on this pedestal and real love wasn’t like that. Though the romantic in her burned to believe that. She often felt as though she’d grown out of her crush but even so… He still made her heart flutter. Arnold Shortman meant something to her, he symbolised something. He was the romantic-era gothic romance she would never achieve. But then, she supposed, he perhaps had a metaphorical wife locked in his attic. The reality of it was they didn’t know one another, their paths crossed briefly and more often than not they were on opposite sides of a feud that started when they were children.  Realistically they only kept up with one another because Gerald and Phoebe had started dating a year and a half ago.

       When Helga reached her home room she turned in and sat down, moving to stare out the window and try to pretend that she hadn’t noticed Lila pawing over Arnold. She wanted to be sick, it was gross, romantic, sappy even and it bothered her. Though she might be the same if anyone gave her the time of day. Her thought process was interrupted when her teacher bustled into the room.

 

* * *

 

 

Instead of writing her article Helga filled out the application in her free period, it was an easy application. You wrote your name, preferred Alias, home room and some very brief details about things you liked. She imagined that the person sifting through this might be surprised if they read what her interests included. The contrast of “Wrestlemania” being written beside “Romantic Poetry” was amusing even to Helga herself. She was apparently a “multi-faceted person”. She snorted and gently slid her application into her binder.   
  
       Lifting her eyes, she caught sight of Phoebe positioned across the room. She deep in a whispered conversation with Gerald. They seemed content to talk among themselves, Helga wondered what type of philosophical shit they were gabbing about momentarily but also found herself not really caring. Instead she stood, loudly and grabbed her bag, excusing herself to the toilet. The supervising teacher grunted and Helga smirked as she slid from the room and into the silent halls. She made her way briskly along, dropping her application into the box that was settled below the gimmicky signup sheet before heading to the girls’ bathroom.  
  
       Deciding she should make the best of being alone, she found herself staring at her reflection which stared back her almost solemnly. She supposed she wasn’t terrible looking but not necessarily traditionally attractive. Puberty had done her some good, she’d waxed her eyebrows into submission and taken her hair out of the pig tails that now embarrassed her to think about. But otherwise she’d changed very little.   
         
       She remained stoic faced, her mouth down turned slightly at the corners and she sort of imagined it must look like a permanent scowl. At least it kept people from coming too close, though sometimes she felt horribly lonely. Though she supposed that was the nature of the world and she pulled her tatty grey beanie down further on her head. Straightening it until she was satisfied. Her face was bare of make-up, she never seen the appeal, it took way too long to apply and besides she just didn’t look like Helga Pataki wearing all the girly, fru-fru stuff anyway.   
  
       With a slow sigh she reached down to grab her satchel and lift it onto her shoulder, she made a mental note to herself that she needed to stop caring so much about what other people thought. That’s what her therapist said.  Stretching slightly she couldn’t help but smile as she passed the sign up box on her way back to class. Maybe things would  become vaguely more interesting.


End file.
